


Really Yours

by fishtale



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Cheating, F/F, Happy Ending, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 03:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9472610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishtale/pseuds/fishtale
Summary: Clarke finally gets the girl.Smutty one-shot with plot and feelings.





	

“Fuck,” Clarke’s hips jerked shakily against Lexa’s open mouth, “Oh, _fuck_.”

With the arch of her foot behind Lexa’s neck—pressing down until the girl’s face all but disappeared—with reckless abandon and sloppy desperation, she rode her pretty lips; grunting. Like this was all okay.

But things like this weren’t _supposed_ to happen.

They were best friends.

And sure—it was a friendship laced with sexual tension from the start but there was a tacit understanding between them that it’d never happen. Because it _couldn’t_.

(Except for the fact that right now her room was filled with the sound of Lexa sucking her clit and all the wet squelching of Clarke’s cum against her mouth, punctuated by their moaning—proving the prior statement to be in actuality false). It _could_ happen. It was.

The reality of it all pressed tightly up against Clarke’s chest.

_Wait._

_Should I stop this?_

_(No, I can’t!)_

Her hips responded to the thought with a sharp, possessive jerk against the soft attention Lexa lavished her with.

“If I’d known you gave head like this I would’ve _never_ been your friend, Lexa. _Never_ ,” it was a soft, raspy mumble and it made Lexa smile around her clit and in turn Clarke’s heart skip; the girl just barely holding off coming.

She really didn’t want to. She didn’t _ever_ want to. She didn’t ever want this to end, because once it did it was game over. This was never happening again and she knew it.

Really, she was grateful it was happening at all.

Though that was sick, wasn’t it?

Ever since she and Lexa had first met (and actually, since two years before _that_ ) Lexa’s been in a committed relationship with Costia Albertson. A girl Clarke kept her distance from (considering the roles they played in Lexa’s life, they were never going to be comfortable around each other—because when you shed away all the pretension, they were not friends, not even acquaintances, but rivals). She’d never once hated Costia though. Pretty obviously she resented her, but she’d always _respected_ her. She always stayed on the right side of the boundaries.

She knew what it was like. She came out of the hell Finn put her through the sort of person who would _never_ —

“Fuck! _Fuck!_ ”

 _—do this_.

And there’d been so many times where she _could_ have. Where the air was so thick between her and Lexa you could _cut_ it and green eyes grew bright like they were pleading for something—but she never let it happen. She bit at her lip and spoke an awkward excuse to go away. (Later, however) She masturbated to versions of the scenario where she was evil and didn’t give a fuck not to hurt people and instead did things like—like what she was currently doing.

(Still it felt too good to let the guilt stop her _now_ ).

“Stick your tongue out, Lexa. And lick all of it. Slow—slowly.”

Before this though, her record was perfect.

“ _Oh_ my _god_ …damn babe…”

She’d been a saint when it came down to it.

“O-open your eyes for me. _Fuck_ , you’re so pretty.”

Even when Lexa and Costia _fought_ (about things Lexa only talked to Anya about—though sometimes their gazes roved to Clarke as they spoke and held hers meaningfully; solemnly) she ignored it.

She never pursued it. Even when it would have been _easy._ Even when it was all laid out in front of her, and she just had to lean forward.

Like: last New Year’s Eve she and Lexa were talking, alone, on the rooftop of Lexa’s apartment; sitting close and sort of tipsy. Lexa had been the one who tugged on her sleeve and slurred into Clarke’s ear the idea to leave the party in the first place. Saying that their friends were too loud; that Octavia broke something, that Bellamy and Raven were at it again; kissing after first bickering childishly, that Jasper was pouty; drinking far too much and growing morose. That it was the same every year and this time it just seemed _tiring_. That she needed to be alone. With Clarke. So Clarke obviously followed her, not even sure of where they were going until they got there. Arriving under a blanket of stars. Feeling like only they existed.

She stared at Lexa’s profile as the girl dangled her legs over the rooftop ledge, where they sat watching fireworks go off early; exploding into neon lights after long whistles into the air. For a long time, they were quiet. And then she caught Lexa’s gaze—saw the sullenness and dark shadows.

She and Costia were in a fight then. Lexa shrugged and sighed when Clarke asked about it.

Clarke stared hard at her, “How come you can tell Anya but not me? Is the sister-bond really _that_ much stronger than the bestie-bond?”

Lexa’s eyes shone glassy from the alcohol. She licked her lips and leaned into Clarke’s space, their mouths closer than what was friendly. She didn’t even graze the subject, brushing over the question with a wry smirk: “You have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen, Clarke. The sexiest. I _love_ them. I love your eyes.”

Clarke turned her head a bit, swallowing with difficulty, suddenly anxious, “ _Lexa..._ ”

“I _know_ ,” she muttered the words. Clarke couldn’t stop staring at her lips as she spoke, “I just want you to know that I think that.”

She stroked a hand up Clarke’s arm, squeezed her shoulder languidly (like she was copping a feel of it or something)—and in the five seconds that followed Clarke had a clear shot to kiss her.

It was the right moment to do that.

Lexa looked down at her, eyes half lidded; inviting her to what was very clearly her doom. She looked like some coy nymph, trying to seduce her into perdition. And perdition looked _so heavenly_.

In retrospect, whenever Clarke mused over this moment she from-the-bottom-of-her-lungs mentally screamed at herself (every time—and there were so damn many of them) KISS HER. YOU IDIOT! _FUCKING_ KISS HER. 

But she didn’t.

Clarke never even let herself fantasize about the alternative ending of this one because that would just make her reality that much more bitter.

Was it her own fault?

Should she give a fuck less and preserve her own heart in this? Be true to herself and _just tell her you love her._

_Give her the option._

No.

The truth sunk heavily into her shoulders.

She couldn’t be the thing that broke them up. She knew right then she could never be that person. She thought of Costia and she still didn’t like her at all but her chest filled up with dread at the thought of doing this behind her back. Kissing her girl on a rooftop under a blanket of fireworks while one year rolled into the next.

She took a deep breath—the air heavy; swirling with smoke and the scent of gunpowder—and broke Lexa’s stare. Pretending to be fascinated with the colors bursting in the sky; faking a smile.

“It’s almost _2016_ , Lex.”

She had to let this go.

She nodded at the lights, _resolution accepted._

_…_

_So then how did I get here?_

_(I never keep a resolution very long.)_

...

Lexa had come over around 8 o’clock which was strange for a Sunday. Sundays she usually stayed in with her girlfriend (like a good girlfriend would) and Clarke either watched Netflix alone and broke her diet or scrolled through names on her phone. People she vaguely remembered. Possible lays.

So. It was strange that Lexa was there.

But Clarke stepped aside wordlessly and let her through the door. Of course, she sniffed her perfume as she passed her. Of course, she took time admiring her outfit—black skinny jeans and a soft charcoal-grey knitted pullover with a neat white blouse just peeking underneath. So beautifully done. So perfect. So _Lexa._

Clarke cleared her throat, hoping her voice sounded normal, “Hey—what’s up?”

Lexa crossed her arms in front of her chest and Clarke could tell something was off straightaway, “…Lex?”

“Um,” her delicate brows furrowed, “I probably should’ve gone to Anya’s but—I—I drove by just to see if you were home. And you _were_. So I—is that super creepy? I’m sorry—forget it. I shouldn’t have—”

“ _Lexa_ ,” Clarke gaped. This girl was in rare form. Lexa Woods, flustered? “What the fuck?”

The girl took a deep breath; her lithe body slumping, the perfect posture breaking all at once, “I had a fight with Costia a little while ago. A big—a _big_ fight.”

“Oh.”

Clarke's front teeth sunk into her bottom lip, watching her face (the shadows under her eyes, the way her cheekbones were slightly more pronounced than usual) for a moment before deciding. She clasped a hand gently over Lexa’s elbow and tugged her into the kitchen, leading her to a chair and letting her settle in comfortably before finally addressing her, voice as soft as she could make it, “You uh—want to talk about it?”

Lexa nodded, picking at a loose thread in her sweater, “She says I’m emotionless.”

“ _What_?”

Lexa shrugged, “It’s like…if I don’t give her the response she planned in her head then there’s something wrong with me. I don’t know.”

“Well what—?”

“I’m just not going to lie to her either and—”

“ _Hey_.”

Clarke kneeled at Lexa’s feet, lacing their hands together, “What happened?”

“She doesn’t trust me.”

Clarke’s brows scrunched up, “Why do you say that?”

Lexa’s eyes flickered down to the floor, she muttered, “She got pissed—last night when we were—”

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Clarke cursed, “The texts? I’m so sorry. I was drunk. And this party was so _boring._ The girl I was trying to talk to went off with some _fuckboy_ so I was left stuck in this house with all these strange people—none of whom were cute—waiting for _ever_ for Raven to pick me up because I was in some far as fuck condo and—I dunno. I was in the mood to bug you. But it was like 3 AM and you were in bed with your girl. I shouldn’t have been texting you. I—I put you in a tough spot and I’m—”

Lexa was shaking her head, putting up a hand to stop Clarke, “I’m the one that fucked up. I texted you _back_. I—giggled when I saw the selfies. I saved them. To your folder. And she…saw it was you and blew up all of a sudden.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, “Yeah, I can’t exactly blame her. Sometimes I think about, like, if the situation were reversed, you know? And if you were _my_ girl, Costia would be the last person I’d want to be your best friend.”

Lexa glanced back up at her, gaze slightly darker than before, “If you were my girl you’d still be my best friend, Clarke.”

And somehow, after all this time and all this turmoil—it was that look that finally broke her. That single sentiment from Lexa’s swollen lips.

She had to have them—after saying something like that to her.

_She dared me._

_No, all right—_

_She_ broke _me. She finally fucking broke me._

Was she supposed to be good forever?

Lexa stroked a hand up her cheek, controlling the kiss just as soon as their lips met. The smooth way her tongue slipped into her mouth made Clarke shiver. It was like Lexa was ready for this. Like she’d been waiting for it.

Well, Clarke had too.

And Clarke didn’t want to go slow either.

When she pressed her body hard against Lexa’s she could feel the girl gasp in her mouth and took advantage—flicking her tongue in Lexa’s mouth. Licking into it. Pleasure coiled tight where Lexa’s tongue stroked hers back. Reality bent. She raked her hand through Lexa’s soft, thick locks; letting the texture ground her even as their kiss kept her floating. She was a mess. She was everywhere.

This—was happening.

This was really happening.

Lexa Woods was moaning into her kiss. Lexa Woods was clasping her arms around _her_ neck.

“ _Clarke_.”

Sighing _her_ name. Like that. Right onto her mouth. _Reverently._

Clarke smirked against her lips; her own buzzing, “Yeah?”

“Take me to your room.”

…

…

Clarke’s jaw fell open.

Lexa was nude in her bed; hair splaying out over her pillows.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Lexa looked away for a moment at that, before turning back to her; eyes bold suddenly, “I want _you_ to get naked too.”

Clarke didn’t waste time. Time seemed important all of a sudden.

She tugged her old college sweatshirt up off her torso and wiggled her pajama pants down and that was it. She was standing naked in front of Lexa for the first time in her life. She must’ve played fantasy reels of this over in her head a thousand times but the reality?—surpassed everything.

She watched emerald eyes dilate as they looked her up and down; growing brighter at every ravenous pass.

“You’re…”

Clarke swallowed, heart hammering; looking swiftly at the ground (taking a long breath) and back up to Lexa’s eyes. They were a watery mix of jade and grey that made Clarke itch for her canvas and her oil paints.

“You’re unreal, Clarke Griffin. You make me _ache_ for you.”

Clarke could feel herself flush all over. She felt it come over her cheeks. Her chest and shoulders. She couldn’t reign in the laughter that bubbled up in her, she was just so happy.

“Lex…”

Plump lips (so very often serious) split into a wide smile, suddenly embarrassed, “ _What_?”

Clarke threw herself over her. Laughing on her skin and lavishing it with kisses before Lexa gained the advantage and flipped her promptly over, holding her down and making her feel suddenly very serious.

She leaned down to kiss Clarke fully and, well—you know the rest.

That was how Clarke came to be _here_. Underneath Lexa and unable to hold off coming for very much longer.

Lexa’s lips barely ghosted kisses over her clit like she knew it was going to be over soon too. They puckered up softly against her and even _that_ was going to be enough. But Lexa pulled back before Clarke’s last jerk could meet her mouth and flicked her tongue down through Clarke’s folds instead before sliding back up, chin smeared in her cum, to flutter the slick muscle dutifully over her clit, over and over. (Though not for very long before) Clarke _came_. Eyes lost inside her head—enjoying the light show that was going off.

“Oh _fuck_! Oh—Lexa! _Fuck!_ ”

Her pleasure flowed but failed to ebb; catching waves and going higher every time. She still felt Lexa’s mouth on her, tongue out—sliding all over.

 _Tasting it_.

“Oh _fuck_!”

Her body shaking, her clit raw and tingling and her insides clenching—she couldn’t stop coming against the heat and pressure Lexa kept offering. But it was too much. Her stomach twitched as she came up on her next wave.

She _couldn’t_ anymore _._ Her clit was pulsing painfully, too sensitive for the stimulation.

“Stop—you have to!—Lexa, please!”

She pushed against the girl’s forehead; their skin finally separating with a wet ‘pop’ before Lexa crawled up her body to pull her into her arms; placing loving kisses along her jaw while Clarke wound down—winded and sweaty.

Clarke sighed into her shoulder as they hugged; nuzzling it, light-headed and satisfied.

Except—not _really._ Her fingers jolted. Her palms slid down Lexa’s soft waist and back up through the lines in her abdomen to finally cup her breasts. She squeezed them; loving how they ceded to her grip—how the little nipples pressed into her palms.

“ _God_ , Lexa.”

Lexa whimpered softly and arched into her touch, forming a figure Clarke very badly wanted to sketch (she hoped she always remembered this, exactly as it happened).

Clarke’s mouth crashed against hers again—needing to feel the softness bend beneath her. She squeezed Lexa’s breasts in her hands as they kissed; dizzy with pleasure, pulling away only to search her face. She never wanted her to regret this.

“Lexa,” her voice felt strained in her throat, “Is it okay, um, if I…can I fuck you?”

She felt Lexa’s sharp inhale against her cheek. Her green eyes flickered left, taking a moment before meeting her gaze again, “The...the last thing Costia told me before I left—she said: ‘I wish you’d just fuck her already. I wish you’d get it over with.’ And…I think that’s why I—subconsciously—why I ended up at your front door. She and I…we’ve been over for a while. It’s just our history was so extensive it’s literally taken this long to end it but…we started ending the second I met _you_ , Clarke. Costia is…amazing. And I love her, I do—I just…you, you’re _home_ to me. For the longest time—since the day I lost my parents, really—I’ve felt like I’ve been… _floating_. I thought that’s how I would always feel, because…you never get that sense of security back after it’s taken away all at once like that. Especially when you’re eleven years old and all alone with your big sister and a terrifying, uncertain future but…I was _fine._ I was at peace with the floating, and the unknown, and all the terrifying bits…and then…life led me to you and I _stopped_. I found that feeling again. The gnawing need to escape just—settled finally. Life wasn’t just…surviving ‘till the next day. I fell—I—I’m—in love with you. I don’t know if it’s too soon to say that or just not the first thing you want to hear after spontaneous head from your best friend but—I just…I need you to know. I’m in love with you, Clarke Griffin.”

Clarke gaped. She suddenly very clearly remembered last New Year’s Eve, fireworks whistling up into the air and exploding in a kaleidoscope of lights. The same thing was happening now, in her chest (a distant part of her even found time to muse over how she loved Lexa’s unwavering bluntness in the face of the most delicate matters).

“So…yes,” Lexa nodded sheepishly, a lopsided smile fixed on her happy face, “You can fuck m—”

Clarke barely ghosted a kiss over her lips, too afraid she’d fade away—that she was really some dream or fevered vision (it was _so long_ , the time that she’d spent wanting this). They parted, gazes locked, “You know what the worst—”

Her voice cracked, and it made furrows appear between Lexa’s brows. She took a breath, starting over, “You know what the worst part was? It was never—no matter how hard it was for me or how much I just wanted to break and tell you, challenge you to make a _choice_ already—it was never the right _time_. It was near her birthday, or yours, or Christmas, or your anniversary or—it was just never—It was never a good time to drop that on you. On _everyone_. It always felt so selfish to even have those thoughts. I finally got why people followed, like, tenets…and commandments and all that. ‘Cause certain things just cause too much pain and hurt if you even entertain them. It was too late for me though. Or it was just always inevitable. Either way…it felt so impossible. It felt like I’d be that forever. A girl, with a secret. A big, transparent, ugly secret.”

She felt the tears on her lashes but sniffled before they could fall, closing her eyes. A soft warmth covered them. Lexa’s lips.

She kissed Clarke dotingly. First, her closed eyes. Then her cheeks. Her nose. Her chin. A spot just above her lip where Clarke recalled she had a freckle. And then, again, her mouth.

They slipped easily back into their deep, hard kisses. Lexa gasped right on her lips and Clarke remembered: “ _you can fuck m—”_

_Yes._

She smiled against those plush lips she loved—

_I can._

And pressed her naked body close to Lexa’s; hissing as their nipples brushed. A satisfying sense of possession settled low in Clarke’s stomach as their kisses grew slower, hotter. She pushed the girl back into her pillows with a touch more desperation than she was showing before. Lexa responded by grinding her hips up into the pressure of Clarke’s body, until Clarke’s thick thigh slipped between her open legs—the length of her cunt sliding against it.

“ _Clarke!_ ”

Clarke smirked even as nails scratched fresh, stinging lines all across her back, “Fuck, I love when you scream my name,” and she rewarded Lexa with a few hard thrusts against her wet, throbbing pussy and little bites down her mouth, up her jaw, across the curve of her ear.

But really.

She didn’t go through years of torture so her goddamn _thigh_ (of all things) could have all the fun. She jerked hard against Lexa one last time before sliding off (smirking at the mournful whine that crawled up the girl’s long throat) licking reverently, thoroughly, at the space between her collarbones before kissing it with her lips, suddenly softer in her approach, “ _God,_ I’m in love with you.”

It seemed dumb to put up any pretense about this now. After everything (and she was so relieved to be at this point, _after_ everything—to finally live in the moment after all of the unnecessary angst; because they were inevitable and it was undeniable). Still, Lexa acted like it was some sort of surprise; cupping Clarke’s face and watching her with bright, silvery eyes. All awed and disbelieving.

It tugged at Clarke’s heartstrings in the saddest way—because she could’ve sworn this whole time she’d been obvious. She waited a beat before deciding on her next tactic; turning to Lexa with a grin, waggling her brows suggestively, stupidly, “Let me suck your tits?”

_When in doubt, be a clown, Clarke._

Lexa laughed—the moment no longer heavy but silly (the sort of happy she only ever felt when Clarke was in the room with her). Even the tears in her eyes changed their connotation. She crossed her arms under her modest bust and propped it up for Clarke, smirking back, “All yours babe.”

Clarke surged at them with a giggle—mouth latching on and sucking forcefully; captivated by Lexa’s nipples (their firmness and their softness). The moaning and mewling above her made her throb harder, it made her wetter, “You’re so sexy, Lexy,” she peppered kisses down the girl’s abdomen; stopping to lick at a spot if she twitched.

To her credit, Lexa attempted to pull a face (all while dealing with the effects of Clarke’s hot, sensuous kisses), “I, I can’t believe you just called me that while this is happening.”

“It rhymed—besides, what I _really_ can’t believe is how out of breath you are,” Clarke groaned, watching Lexa shiver and closing her eyes to try and compose herself at the sight (failing). A switch was flipped instead.

She bit the little bones that protruded right near Lexa’s hips, watching her react: lashes fluttering, eyes screwing shut, mouth falling open. Sublimely beautiful. Clarke felt her eyes mist over, watching her; nosing her little hip bones one last time before sliding down further (‘til she could catch her scent).  

And then there was that part of her; secret, magnificent—the one and only part Clarke hadn’t seen before today (she’d seen her go topless on the beach precisely three times and she remembered those times, fully). But her pussy? Not even a peek; not once. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” she sighed, before she dove into it—first kissing her mound right on the sweet-smelling tightly trimmed brown curls; hearing Lexa gasp as if panicking, long fingers already gripping for Clarke’s hair.

“Oh my god,” There was a slight tremble in Lexa’s bottom lip as she said it; shaking her head, “I don’t know why it feels like this is the first time I’m doing this.”

Clarke licked her very dry lips. Lexa always knew just what to say to totally dismantle her—like she owned blueprints to Clarke’s lizard brain. It could even be ‘innocent.’ Some dumb sly comment spoken near her ear; with Lexa’s hand lingering on Clarke’s arm, which she’d grabbed for ‘attention’ (that she already had). “I _love_ when you wear that hat, Clarke. I like the way you look in it.” And that’s all she said but not _really_. There was a certain flicker of her eyes, a batting of her lashes—and an _inflection_ , an emphasis on certain parts of it; like a coded message. And Clarke, exasperated, turned on, and annoyed, just wanted to say: “ _Fine,_ let’s fuck already—that’s clearly what you meant by ‘nice hat.’”

Lexa watched her, brows knitted, “Why are you lost in thought right now?”

“Because,” Clarke mumbled, “This is happening. Let me be moved for a second.”

Lexa grinned (too smugly for Clarke’s taste), so Clarke descended again; kissing her everywhere but around her clit ‘till Lexa was gasping helplessly as she had been before; hand back at Clarke’s hair, as if hoping to push her to it. Clarke chuckled; sliding her tongue out to lick at the seam of Lexa’s entrance—meeting soaked heat.

“ _Ohmygod,_ ” she sighed, muffled, against the wetness her tongue delved through, tasted (like sweetness and some dark, unnamable quality that left her addicted). Clarke suckled at it for minutes, until Lexa’s hips started to jerk forward and little whining noises fell from her open lips. Clarke relented, mouth releasing with a slurping sound, “You’re so wet, Lexa.” Though it went without saying, Clarke wanted to.

She pressed back into her; sealing her lips around Lexa’s clit just as she slid two fingers through the tight ring of her entrance. The girl went rigid beneath her, back arched against the mattress, “Fuck, Clarke!”

Clarke was bottomed out to the second knuckle inside her and she wished she could tell her that she felt her walls coming down on her fingers and that her dripping wetness collected in a small puddle in her palm but her mouth was exceedingly busy (sucking, nibbling, licking wildly) at Lexa’s clitoris.

And Lexa met everything Clarke came at her with, thighs shaking and head thrown back in pleasure. Soon Clarke felt her walls pulsing; her clit twitching madly in her mouth; hands in her hair tugging Clarke impossibly closer—a hard, guttural groan of her name dripping off Lexa’s plump lips. The more desperate she became, the more Clarke wanted to give it to her; hearing wet slapping as her thrusts became faster, less forgiving. Sloppy and rough. She could hear the headboard slam against the wall with all their writhing in bed. Could hear her own mouth sucking ceaselessly at Lexa’s clit. And of course, Lexa’s cries of pleasure (louder now with every push back into her). They were having very loud, neighborhood disrupting sex but Clarke couldn’t find it in herself to give a damn when she could tell (by the breaks in her rhythm) that Lexa was close.

 _Very_ close.

Her fist gnarled in Clarke’s hair and her back arched in a perfect bow, pausing—before the hard spasms hit her, “Clarke! Clarke!” A never-ending stream of Clarke’s name fell from her open mouth. This was Lexa coming, and it was fucking beautiful. Clarke flashed back through all her proudest moments (diplomas, and honors, and lives saved); but in the primal context this one topped everything, blew past it all like only it mattered.

It was glorious.

…

They didn’t stop ‘till it was clear outside—grey-blue, maybe five am.

“I don’t want to go to work—I _really_ don’t,” Lexa mumbled. Like this was routine; like it was their hundredth time or something, “I’m gonna have to borrow the most lawyer-looking outfit you have. I’m guessing it might literally be your scrubs.”

Lexa turned around in her arms, so they were no longer spooning, but hugging. Green eyes roved her face and she seemed to guess the reason behind all of Clarke’s silence. Her tone got really gentle, “I’m going to take her to dinner tonight. So we can talk. So I can end it. And—I—I’ll stay at my sister’s while I look for a new place. I just…I think it’d be better if we hold off announcing this for a bit.”

Clarke tried to stop it but her body went stiff. Reflex, she guessed.

“Clarke—”

She sighed, reaching up to kiss Lexa on the nose, “Relax—I get it. I’m…not out to embarrass Costia either. I know you can’t just break up with her and then suddenly we’re together. I know how it would look. I just…I want to know where we _really_ stand to each other. Not how we might look, I don’t care about that. I haven’t been waiting years just to parade you around to our friends like a trophy. I’ve been waiting years to know you’re really mine, and I’m yours. So?”

She chanced a glance at Lexa’s face (because she needed to verify these next words were true); Lexa’s misty eyes, her slow, wide smile, “You’re mine, Clarke. And I’m really yours.”

 

 


End file.
